Clean Slate...

Nearly every day, I’m reminded that my life is a clean slate and I can write any kind of story I want. I know that to be true. My teenagers don’t require much more than food and water (and gas and concert ticket money). I’ve left town without them twice and returned to a house still standing. Perhaps now is the time to set chalk to that slate. But it’s just not that easy.

Have you ever bought fresh paints and canvas, or new pens and paper and been at a total loss for what to create? That’s where I sit. I know my story is in my power. I know it’s mine to write. But this blank slate is daunting! I been adrift so long – both in life and career – that I don’t even know where to begin and the things that I used to know have changed so much that they don’t recognize me any more than I recognize them!

When trying to return to the work force full time, just getting a foot in the door is tricky. I’ve done so many vastly different things in my work life that it’s hard for anyone who doesn’t know me to understand the voyage that brought me here. One thing I know for sure is that I work hard for anyone who brings me in and there’s very little that I won’t do well. I always find a way.

I think, for most people, moving forward in life is a bit like putting together a puzzle. Flip the pieces, sort the edges, review the photo on the box, and fit the pieces together. For me, my pile of pieces are what fell out of random boxes and I picked the up along my way here. I have no idea what the picture is supposed to be. The pieces don’t fit, so some razoring and the occasional sledgehammer are necessary.

The other day, I was looking for something under the clutter on my dresser and was reminded of this box.  Apparently, when I’m at a fork in the road, I get creative. At one particular “where do I go from here” phase, I got busy with magazines, scissors, and glue and decoupaged everything that was standing still. Most of these things – picture frames, coin banks, whatever – were passed along to others, but I kept the box. 

I think it just screams “ME!” so I kept it. Inside are little trinkets with memories of my life thus far. They’re all very special items that take me back to a time and place to remind me of who I am. Puzzle pieces.

 Perhaps, instead of focusing on the blank slate that stands before me, I need to think about ways to reconfigure the puzzle pieces in a way that makes me fit with the picture on whatever box wants me to climb in.

Or maybe, I’ll just pull out fingerpaints and my slate won’t be blank much longer.